


a2 + b2 = c2

by booksnchocolate



Category: Bandom, Marianas Trench, Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M, Oh My God, POV Second Person, Teacher-Student Relationship, What Have I Done, Yikes, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:37:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksnchocolate/pseuds/booksnchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon on FYJM who requested “Someone should write a hot gay student-teacher fic” – here’s my attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a2 + b2 = c2

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Dubcon, underage sex, oral sex, uneven power dynamic, some swearing 
> 
> This is in second person POV, which I haven’t written in before, so it was a nice challenge. I literally whipped this up in one night, so concrit is lovely. Originally posted at fuckyeahjoshandmatt.tumblr.com.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** oh my god I am SO SORRY for this. I own none of the stuff mentioned here. I don’t condone any of the stuff mentioned here. I don’t know these people in real life. This is for fun and not profit.

You notice his hands first, as crazy as that sounds. Despite the alarming blue hair and the mysterious tattoos, his hands are the first thing to draw your gaze, long and elegant as they flip pages of notes, twirl pens aimlessly. His hands catch your attention as you take attendance one Monday morning, and when “Ramsay, Joshua” looks up at the sound of his name, your eyes meet. It’s not electric, but you learn his eyes are wide and blue. You’ll remember this, though you’ll habitually forget the name of every other student in your class.   
  
His mouth is the next thing you notice. You’ve heard his voice before, of course, the routine “Here”, “Yep”, “Naw”, and the occasional muttered curse under his breath when you pick on him for a question. The sound of his voice should be nothing new. Operative word being “should”. You can’t help the way the world almost tilts on its axis the day you look up and see those luscious lips pursed in concentration as Joshua - Josh, you correct yourself - pores over a textbook. Rising from your chair to start the class, you have to steady yourself with a hand on your desk as an image hits you like a train: those lips, sweet and pink, so often used to mouth off, wrapped around your cock. You scrabble for a piece of chalk and turn to the blackboard, hoping to force down any physical reaction with trigonometry and the Pythagorean Theorem. It works well until you finish writing and face the class, and your eyes meet again. He swipes a tongue over his full bottom lip and you excuse yourself from the classroom.   
  
For the first few weeks, you can almost ignore it, almost convince yourself that this is nothing more than a passing fancy exaggerated by a nasty case of blue balls on your part. But you see the looks he shoots you from his hooded eyes, the way he tracks your movements when he thinks you’re not looking. The weather is unseasonably warm one day in October, and you’re marking with your sleeves rolled up. He stares at you for a full forty-five seconds before he catches you looking and drops his gaze like he’s been burned. You take to rolling up your sleeves more often.   
  
The weeks go on and the signs continue. He draws dicks all over one of his test papers and neglects the bonus question in favour of drawing two stick figures engaged in a rather compromising act. At home, you mark the test wrong in slashing red ink and take an hour-long shower, jerking off to images of him. You try your best to feel guilty about it. You don’t.   
  
The weeks go on. You lecture about derivatives and curve equations and dream secretly about tracing the equations of his jawline with your fingertips.   
  
Report card season comes around. Despite your best efforts, Josh has received failing marks on almost all his tests. You call him back after the lesson, asking him to meet you after school. Watching closely, you don’t miss the shiver that runs through his body at your words.   
  
“Okay,” he says, and his voice is cool and you’re fighting down shivers of your own. He walks out of the room but not before turning and throwing you a wink at you - you feel it like a punch to the gut and it must show on your face because the corner of his mouth pulls up in a small grin. Three-thirty has never seemed so far away.   
  
Eons later and the school bells have finally rung for the last time. The hallways are a mass of teens jostling together toward freedom but your classroom is still and empty, save for where you’re sitting at your desk, vibrating with your own nervous tension.   
  
There’s a knock on the door and you jolt upright. “Come in,” you call, and hope your voice doesn’t give you away. Josh enters and shuts the door behind him, swinging his bookbag onto an abandoned desk. He shoves his hands in his pockets, slouching, the cowl of his hoodie drawn low over his eyes. He is the very picture of juvenile delinquency.   
  
Juvenile delinquency has never looked so appealing.  
  
There’s silence for a moment before Josh speaks. “Is this about the dicks?”  
  
You nearly choke on your own breath. Way to open a conversation. “Ah, no, actually,” you say. “Josh, your test scores haven’t been great in my class. Is there any way they could be improved?”  
  
Josh sighs explosively and kicks at the ground. When he looks up, he meets your eyes and you see the spark of rebellion in his gaze. “You tell me.”  
  
Your throat is suddenly bone dry. Could this be going where you think it is? “Would… extra tutoring help?”  
  
Josh looks at you like he knows what you’re thinking and licks his lips slowly. You track every movement of his tongue and catch a glint of metal - a tongue piercing? Heat spreads through you at the thought of what that metal ball would feel like against your tongue, against your -   
  
“Maybe. Are you offering to - tutor me, Mr. Webb?”  
  
There are two spots of colour high in Josh’s cheeks and you can feel an answering flush spread up from your neck. “I would be willing to consider the proposition. If you behave.” You can barely get the words out, your throat is so tight.  
  
Josh’s eyes - such a brilliant blue - light up and he takes a step closer. “Oh, I’ll be so good,” he breathes with breath stolen from your lungs.   
  
You have no words. You’ve fantasized about this for weeks, months. You raise a trembling hand to hesitantly, slowly, push back his hood. He doesn’t resist you, instead turning his cheek into the movement so that for the briefest of instants, your palm grazes his skin. The contact is electrifying.   
  
“This is… not… We should-” you begin but he cuts you off, stepping back, hackles raised.   
  
“Are you going to tell me we shouldn’t do this? Cause that’s a perfect fucking time for your moral bullshit,” he spits, eyes flashing, all colour gone from his cheeks. He’s fairly vibrating with anger. You shake your head and raise your hands in supplication, trying to calm him.   
  
“No. I was going to say we have to be careful. And we should lock the door.” You slowly stand and move toward the door, taking care not to invade his space. You turn the lock and walk back to your desk, gingerly taking a seat. Josh hasn’t taken his eyes off you the whole time, though his hands are no longer clenched into fists.   
  
“Fine,” he says mulishly.   
  
You don’t know what to say to that. “Fine?” you echo, voice just this side of strained. “Josh, we don’t have to do anything-“  
  
“What if I want to?” Josh looks at you with apprehension and determination scrawled in equal measures across his features. He looks all of fifteen and you feel bad that you don’t feel worse about wanting this.  
  
You look down at your desk for a long moment before daring to meet his gaze. “Then I would be hard-pressed to resist,” you say, because it’s the truth.   
  
Apparently that’s what Josh needed to hear because he steps closer again, closer than before until he’s standing right in front of you. You spin in your chair to face him and your knees touch, his dirty denim and your dull khaki. Even through two layers of clothing, your heart races at the contact.   
  
“Josh…” you say, and his name feels different now on your lips, sensuous and full of promise. You extend a hand; he takes it and clambers into your lap eagerly. There’s a minute of clumsy fumbling on the chair as he tries to settle awkward, coltish limbs atop your body. His elbow mashes uncomfortably into your sternum for a moment but eventually you find a position that works, him sitting in your lap, straddling your hips, warmth spreading out from where his palms are pressed flat against your chest.  You rest your hands on his hips, breathing shakily - you can’t quite believe this is really happening. You lift your eyes to meet his gaze, eyes wide and pupils blown.   
  
“Is this okay?” you breathe, watching him carefully for any sign to the contrary. He blinks once and you get lost in the flutter of his lashes against pale cheeks.   
  
“Yeah,” he says, biting one of his plump lips as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. You exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and slowly, slowly, slip your fingers beneath his shirt. The first brush of your fingertips on his skin is heaven, so soft and warm and yielding. Your eyes flutter shut at the wonder of the sensation; how long have you waited for this moment? Above you, Josh twitches and squirms, huffing out a quiet giggle.   
  
“That tickles!” he complains, shifting into your touch to get more tension. You oblige, gripping his hips more firmly and he lets out a quiet gasp as your thumb strokes his skin. The sound goes straight to your dick and this time you can’t hide your reaction behind chalkboards. Josh notices the tenting in your pants and grins lasciviously, grinding his hips down ever so slightly and you shudder.   
  
“Josh,” you whisper one more time, and he answers your wordless plea by leaning in and sealing your lips in a kiss. The first one is feather-light, a dry brush of lips, almost chaste. Josh pulls back to regard you with an inscrutable expression, lips curved in an impish grin.You open your mouth to protest his absence but he swoops in again for another kiss, much deeper and more heated than the first. There is no artistry in the mash of teeth and tongues, the mingling of spit - but somehow it’s even better than you’d imagined. His taste is intoxicating, acrid smoke and saccharine pop, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.   
  
“I wanna do more,” he says and if you weren’t hard before, you sure as hell are now.   
  
“What - what did you have in mind?” you manage breathlessly, mind spinning. You haven’t felt this flustered in a long time.  
  
In answer, Josh clambers off your lap and drops to his knees on the linoleum floor. He looks up at you through the aggressive blue of his fringe. “This,” he says simply, and reaches for your belt.   
  
Your mind short-circuits for a moment as you try to take in what’s happening. Josh - the class troublemaker, your student - is on his knees in front of you… By the time you come back to yourself, your pants are undone and Josh is nudging your hips up to slide your boxers down. You obey helplessly, lost in the vision of his fingers, those skillful fingers, peeling away your clothing and finally, _finally_  wrapping around your cock. You bite your bottom lip to suppress the groan of pleasure that threatens to bubble out of your throat. Just the feeling of his hands on you is almost overwhelming.   
  
“Josh,” you gasp, trying to control your voice, “you don’t have to do this. We can- we can wait-”   
  
“Nah,” Josh says, the flush in his cheeks belying the cockiness in his voice. You open your mouth to argue again but Josh sucks the tip of your penis into his mouth first and whatever you were going to say is swamped in a wave of pleasure. You grasp desperately at the arms of the chair, hoping for something to ground you as Josh pulls back, licks his lips - those damn beautiful lips - and takes you deeper into his mouth. It’s a clumsy, awkward fit; he can’t take your whole length into his mouth, and his teeth scrape your shaft at intervals  - but once he starts to suck, none of it matters because  _Josh_  is on his knees blowing _you_  and how is this your life? You’re trembling and sweating at the intensity of sensation, and it’s all you can do to keep your eyes open to watch Josh’s head bob between your legs. You can’t breathe, but in a moment as perfect as this, who needs to? Josh hums in the back of his throat and you let loose a strangled grunt. You’re desperate for more friction, more suction, but you keep your hips rooted to the chair, not wanting to thrust into his mouth on the first time. There’s a litany spilling from your lips and your realize it’s his name over and over again:  _Josh Josh Josh Josh_. His tongue ring drags impossible patterns across the underside of your cock, sending you spiraling into a vortex of pleasure. Fractal patterns burst behind your eyes as you come harder than you have in ages.   
  
When you open your eyes, you see Josh wiping his mouth on his sleeve, grimacing. “Are you okay?” you ask, trying to remember how to use your voice.   
  
“Yeah,” Josh shrugs. “That didn’t taste so great,” he says, levering himself up.   
  
“You didn’t have to swallow,” you say, still riding the high of your orgasm, not yet caught up to the awkwardness of reality. You fumble yourself back into your pants and reach a hand out for Josh, who is still standing in front of you like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “Come here.”  
  
He goes willingly, climbing onto your lap in a way that could easily become familiar. You bring him in for another kiss, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself in him, bitterness mixed with his own unique taste. When you break the kiss, you’re both breathing heavily.  
  
“Do you want me to help you with that?” you ask, nodding at the obvious tent in Josh’s pants. Flushed again, Josh nods and undoes his pants and pushes his underwear down with fingers that only shake a little. “How do you want it?” you ask.  
  
Josh swallows nervously. It looks uncharacteristic on him. At last, he answers: “Your - your hands. On me.”  
  
You hum your acquiescence. “Spit okay?”  
  
Josh stares at you for a second, open-mouthed, like he’s not sure how to reply. You can’t blame him - this is a novel situation for both of you. At last, he nods. You spit into your palm and look at him once more to gauge his reaction. He’s blushing furiously and his dick is fully hard, the tip beading with precum. You take him in your hand gently, stroking up and down experimentally. You flick your wrist at the top of the pull and he bucks his hips hard into your grip. You bite back a smile and kiss him sweetly, stroking him all the while. He shudders and gasps into your mouth, gripping your biceps like a vise, like he’s trying to crawl into you. You kiss him again and cradle his head with your free hand, whispering his name into his ear, telling him everything you’ve been dreaming the past months, telling how beautiful, how amazing he is, how lucky you are to be with him now. He gasps softly as he comes, splattering the front of your shirt with white stripes. You hold him close through the aftershocks, burying your face in his hair, feeling him shake in your arms.   
  
Josh grimaces when he comes back to himself, taking in the state of your shirt. “Fuck, your shirt.”   
  
You look down and shrug. “I have a spare.” You can’t stop smiling and you’re well aware you look like a dork but you couldn’t care less after what’s just happened. You stroke a thumb up Josh’s wrist gently.   
  
“So,” Josh says after a while, “does this mean I get a passing grade, Mr. Webb?”  
  
You bite your lip. “You’re doing really well so far. Would you be averse to some more practice in the future?”  
  
Josh grins at you and your chest feels funny. “Yeah. I should probably work on some more skills before the next test.”  
  
You stand and help Josh to his feet. If your hands linger together for slightly longer than normal, there’s no one to see. “Well, thanks for your excellent work, Josh,” you say as you walk him toward the door.   
  
“No problem, Mr. Webb. It was… my pleasure.” He looks ridiculously pleased with himself at the innuendo and you can’t help but duck your head to hide your smile.   
   
Before you unlock the door, Josh turns to you once more. “One more for the road?” he asks, looking up hopefully and you can’t help but oblige. You kiss him again, savouring his taste and the feel of him in your mouth. When you pull back, his lips are even more swollen than before, and you can’t fight the rush of pleasure that brings you, knowing you did that to him.   
  
“I’ll see you around, Josh. Take care.”  
  
He lifts a hand as he heads out into the corridor. “See you later Mr. Webb.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love age difference fics, and underage fics are my not-so-guilty pleasure... but oh my God, I felt /so skeezy/ writing this fic, I just. So to all the authors out there who consistently write good, smutty underage fic (Sterek shippers, I'm lookin' at you <3): You are braver souls than I, and thanks for all the porn. :D


End file.
